See You
by brxe
Summary: [ Midorima/Takao, slight AU. Two-shot. ] "The shooting-guard so dead-set on getting home by now that he almost misses the other boy out of the corner of his eye, sitting on a bench under a tree. This boy is wearing a hospital gown the same color as the moonlight, and has skin nearly as pale, a stark contrast to dark hair and accented in blue eyes light and milky."


It's only just warm enough to stand outside without wearing a coat. Mind, people are still walking about in them, bundled despite the nearly still breeze, temperatures that seem to rise every day, and the sun that intensifies with every dawn that passes. It's not necessarily Shintaro's favorite season, but it's certainly the most exciting of the lot. The iconic sakura trees bloom, and the air has yet to become weighted with the heat of summer, meaning that in practice, he's got to work to sweat, and even when he does, he cools off not long after standing still.

The best change, perhaps, is getting out of doors after the frost has melted away and replaced by dew. He practices all year around, but spring practices are the best. Courts are swept off, new shoes are purchased, and practice resumes with light wind whipping through their hair. One must remaster outdoor courts as opposed to indoor ones, which takes some time. Every day, Midorima goes to practice after school.

It's just one way to escape. Because, while basketball is his passion, April marks the cram season, studying late into the night to take the exams that every student dreads. As a student, he's got to take them, and with his parent's pressure on him, there's no way to excuse anything lower than an A.

His parents' voices change tone on him, as evident one morning, when the clouds seem to return for the first time in a week or so. They hang, overcast, a gray blanket to block out the sun.

"Good morning," his mother says, handing him a glass of water and a plate of food. She's already dressed for work, wearing a crisp jacket and dress that all but explicitly matches his father's attire. Two briefcases set up against one leg of the table, his father washing the dishes across the counter.

"Morning," Shintaro replies, without hesitation, but remaining silent otherwise as he eats. His breakfast tastes bland, though his mother is an excellent chef; he figures he stayed up too late the previous night.

"You're starting your exam prep class today, right?" his mother asks, prompting him to speak, though he's stayed determinedly silent, mostly in thought. Today is the fourth, after all. Four and four, that's double bad luck.

"Yes," he keeps the sigh of out his voice, but he has the feeling his parents can sense it anyway. All he really wants to do is play basketball, and while he keeps up his studies without hesitation, it's the former that consumes more of his waking thought. Strategy, practice, the pursuit of perfection and just a dash of good fortune ought to send him into college basketball.

Still, this dream is just beyond his reach, he knows, as he looks back towards the briefcases against the table. They're filled with legal documents, documents he'd be dealing with if he followed all his parents' wishes. His backup plan would have been to comply with them, become a doctor or a lawyer and make enough money for them to retire happily, without worry for their only child.

Shintaro runs a hand through his hair, shooting a glance at the clock. If he went to the prep class, he would miss just over an hour of basketball, something that he couldn't afford, even if the class was only for a month, until exams actually began. He decides it's best to go to the class and practice by himself afterwards.

"Shintaro," his father adds, "I've already contacted your basketball coach and told him you'll be late for practice."

He nods automatically, quietly frustrated with his parents' priorities, no matter how much logic he could see in them.

By the time that Shintaro is done with practice, he's exhausted. There's sweat dried onto his jersey and the back of his neck, ensuring that his hair sticks to his forehead, and though his breath has settled, all he wants is to sleep. It's late, perhaps 21:00, because he stayed an extra hour after practice in order to make up for time lost for his class. The moon is nearly full, visible past the clouds that have by now evaporated; he notes as he walks off the court and grabs his bag. The air has cooled to a temperature only describable as pleasant, and a few stars are visible through the smog and artificial lights of the city.

Shintaro smiles to himself as he takes a long drink from his water bottle and goes to cut through the park, which is large and includes several benches, trees and a playground. It'll be faster than going around, and then his house is only three short blocks away. Just before he goes, he re-wraps his fingers, safely securing them so they'll be in perfect condition for practice tomorrow night.

The shooting-guard so dead-set on getting home by now that he almost misses him. He almost misses the other boy out of the corner of his eye, sitting on a bench under a tree. This boy is wearing a garment the same color as the moonlight, and has skin nearly as pale, a stark contrast to dark hair and accented in strangely blue eyes so light and milky that Shintaro is thrown off guard. Upon second glance, he appears to be wearing a hospital gown. The boy's eyes are glued to the moon, or maybe slightly off the moon, into the sky just beyond it. He could have just moved on, gone home, but suddenly, he's no longer tired, his interest has been piqued, and just as he's about to turn away and continue home out of politeness, the boy on the bench speaks.

He's even further struck by the boy's voice. It's the embodiment of laid back, with a touch of sass and a hint of lazy.

"Sheesh! Don't let me keep you here."

Maybe it had been the eyes, so distant, that had fooled Shintaro into thinking that the boy didn't see him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't think you—"

"Didn't think I what? Saw you?" the boy's eyes snap away from the moon and land somewhere around Shintaro's neck. "Of course I saw you." A shit-eating grin appears on the boy's face, but he doesn't move from the bench.

"Aa." The taller boy has no idea what to say. "I'll just get going." He bows out of habit before taking a cautious step away, some part of him wanting to hear the boy speak again.

It's not supposed to be a lucky day; it's supposed to be 4/4, probably one of the most unlucky days of the year. And yet, he's graced with enough fortune to hear the boy vocalize another complaint.

"Nah, sit down, unless you've got somewhere to be," the boy shrugs, a western habit, though his Japanese is perfect. "The sky's beautiful tonight." He nods towards the vast expanse of blackness, the grin widening, and, surprisingly, reaching those milky blue eyes.

"My name's Takao. Takao Kazunari." Takao inclines his head. "And you are?"

"…I'm Midorima Shintaro." He sits down next to Takao, tentatively at first, as he notices just how thin his new acquaintance is; his legs, even through the white hospital gown, look terribly thin.

"Nice to meetcha," Takao says happily. "I heard you playing basketball just a few minutes ago. Are you on a team?" he's genuinely curious, the sound of the basketball dribbling down the court brings back some intense memories, not to mention he's more than willing to hear any stories of his favorite sport.

"Yeah, I'm on a team," he replies. "What about you?" Shintaro asks out of politeness, because it appears that this boy could barely be playing _any_ sport without collapsing within the first few minutes. The closer he looks, the more fragile Takao appears.

"I used to be," through the irritating grin and calm tone, Shintaro thinks he can pick up just a hint of longing in his voice. "When I was in junior high, I was a point guard." He laughs, like it's some sort of mildly funny joke, making a hand motion as if he was blocking another player from shooting. In the light of the moon, Shintaro can see a hospital bracelet bearing his name, but Takao's hand is lowered too quickly for him to get a good look. "But then, when I was in junior high, I could see a whole lot better than I can now."

Shintaro can't think of anything to say. By now, he's gathered that this boy's vision is either nonexistent, or incredibly poor. Why, he's not sure. It probably has something to do with the hospital gown.

"Not like it matters now," Takao gives a little stretch, like a cat, his bangs blowing in the light breeze that's picked up. "I can still watch the sky, you know?" he shakes his head, as if trying to shoo an irritating fly. "Good luck in your game, I heard you had one coming up."

_But we were talking about that game all the way in the court, and that's around twelve meters away!_

"Thanks," Shintaro says awkwardly, picking up his bag. He needs to get going now, or his parents will drill him for staying out too late. "I have to go now…I have school tomorrow…don't you?"

"Me? Nope," Takao gives another shrug. "See you around, Shin-chan!"

At this nickname, the newly dubbed Shin-chan cannot help but exhale softly through his nose. This guy seemed like exactly the type to give out such names…it made him want to say something, but he was far too polite. "See you."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story~ if so, a second chapter will likely be uploaded next week, or when I finish it. **

**I'm also partially fandom blind, so I'm very sorry if I made any terrible errors. If so, please feel free to point them out.**


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